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The Typewriter
This past summer we were cleaning out the garage. I found my old I.B.M. Selectric III typewriter on one of the shelves covered in dust. The dust cover had some rips in it. When I touched the rubber-band holding the chord together it disintegrated. It’s blue color faded as it was 28 years old. I dragged it over to a workbench and plugged the chord into an outlet. It purred for a moment and then when silent. Was it running? Perhaps just really quiet? I punched a key. No response. I punched a bunch of keys. Still no response. I accidentally hit the correction key. It worked! But that was it. Nothing else worked. I unplugged it as it was starting to smell hot.
Yes, I am talking about a typewriter… the machine we loved and coveted before the age of computers. Anyone who went to college before 1985 either owned or at least had access to a typewriter. When I went to seminary in 1980 I was given this beautiful I.B.M. Selectric III typewriter because I had pounded three other old fashion manual typewriters to death. This Selectric III was the Cadillac of typewriters at the time. Many professional offices had either the Selectric II or III model. When I arrived at seminary for my first semester in the autumn 1980 I was envied by most of my classmates.
I had received my Selectric III as a gift from a very dear friend who knew of my old manual typewriters and what had happened to them. She knew that I would need a dependable typewriter for the many papers that are to be written in seminary. She knew that I had trained on the I.B.M. Selectric model when I went through classes learning to be a blind adult. Knowing all of this information Ms Lucille Schmidt went out and purchased me my beautiful blue I.B.M. Selectric III typewriter. I was so totally awed when it was delivered to my parent’s house where I was living. Now, here it sat on a shelf in the garage collecting dust.
I pulled the plug from the wall outlet and re-wrapped the power chord finding a new twist-tie to hold it together. I put the old ripped dust cover back over the machine making sure that it wasn’t burning because it smelled extremely hot. The typewriter had been fixed a couple of years earlier. I had asked the repair shop if they would have use for it? “Would you like to buy it?” or “Do you know anyone looking for a typewriter?” or “should I put an ad in the local paper ‘for sale’?” I asked. My repair person informed me that he had probably two dozen such machines sitting on the shelf of his shop for sale at about $25-35… and they were all in working condition. Mine wasn’t! And it would be costly to fix. I knew what had to be done.
I picked up the heavy old beast and headed for the curb and the pile of garbage collecting there. The curb is some thirty-five feet from the garage. As I lugged my old friend towards it finally resting place I started to think about all of the papers I had written. I started to remember not only all of the papers I had written; Professor Art Merril’s Old Testament four-page specials, Dr. Bryant’s famous ‘Constructive Theology’ paper that got written, and re-written, and re-written again and again, and many other seminary papers… not to mention the many journal entries which eventually became part of my book “From Eagle to chicken and Back”… but also the many papers that my friend and classmate Jo would type to make some extra money while attending seminary. I suddenly found myself turned around and headed back into the garage carrying my dear old friend, the Selectric III typewriter.
I started to look for another place on the shelf for it to rest in peace. Then something inside of me told me that I would never get it repaired, I would never ever use it again, and it didn’t work. I turned and headed back towards the curb and the bigger pile of garbage now collecting. Somehow that thirty-five feet from the garage to the curb seemed an infinity.
I was about ready to set it on the pile when… there was another last minute flash of memories. Remembering my dear friend who had purchased the typewriter for me because she had faith in me accomplishing my call to be a Pastor… remembering the night that kids had re-arranged my cabin room at camp and when I went storming in to get something I tripped over the typewriter stand holding the Selectric III and actually being able to hit the deck first so that I caught the typewriter and saved it from getting damaged… and again, all of the journal entries, term papers, and letters to friends. I just really had a hard time placing it on the pile at the curb for the garbage pick-up. I looked back at the garage? I rubbed my hand over the slick hard plastic and metal casing. I looked back at the garage. It really didn’t take up that much room. I started to set it back down. Another glance towards the garage…
Alrighty then! Somewhere in my mind I determined that if I set it down and ran real quick back into the garage it wouldn’t know what was happening and I could close the garage door and not have to look at it. Wait a minute? I couldn’t really see it anyway… but my mind’s eye could, and would, and I would know it was out there. But it was beyond repair, had out lived its usefulness and it was time to let go. I set my beautiful I.B.M. Selectric III on the garbage pile, started to shed some tears, and slowly walked back into the garage.
An hour later I smiled when my wife told me that someone had come along, saw the typewriter, and took it. Well… it doesn’t work, doesn’t pay to have it fixed, and… but on the other hand, if they want it? It’s theirs!
Many young people have not a clue what it was like to type papers on a manual or electric typewriter. Perhaps they have seen one in the basement of their parents’ home, or in a picture, or even in a museum. If you were lucky you might have had a typewriter with an automatic correction key which simply meant that if you caught your mistake you could back-up manually and fix it. No spell-checker to indicate that you have misspelled a word, use incorrect grammar, given you choices for other words, etc. which our modern day computers do for us. The typewriter was simply the extension of our thoughts through our fingers onto the keys, through the machine, and onto paper. And if you wanted or needed a second copy, you used carbon-paper.
Long lived my I.b.M. Selectric III typewriter with the self-correction key… for twenty-eight years. Wherever it is… job well done old friend!
Mark |